


A New Life

by TorrieGrayson



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/M, Mark of Cain, Men of Letters, Men of Letters Bunker, Reader-Insert, cas lets you wear his jacket, reader likes to cook
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-25
Updated: 2017-12-03
Packaged: 2019-01-22 21:14:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12490984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TorrieGrayson/pseuds/TorrieGrayson
Summary: This story is an AU that begins roughly around season 9.  Reader is Cuthbert Sinclair’s daughter. When you decide it’s time to leave the nest, your father points you in the direction of the bunker. What happens when two strangers show up in your new home?





	1. Birthright

The steam from the shower flowed over the curtain and cascaded across the large bathroom. You had finished showering minutes ago, but you let the warm water run over your head and down your body while you thought about what you were about to do.

When you eventually turned the water off, you wrapped yourself in a towel and plopped down on your bed. You looked around your bedroom. Your vanity was neat for the first time since you could remember your altar was bare, and the photo of you smiling with your father that sat on your nightstand was gone. Finally, you stared into your closet; your eyes drifting from your clothes on the rack down to the packed duffel bag that lie on the floor.

You laid back on the bed with your legs still hanging over the side and sighed.

“You can do this,” you said to yourself with watering eyes.

“Y/N?” came your father’s voice as he knocked on the door.

You used part of the towel to quickly dab your eyes as you sat back up. You cleared your throat, trying to sound normal. “Give me a minute. I just got out of the shower.”

“Meet me downstairs when you’re done?”

“Sure thing.”

~~~~~~

“Dad?”

You walked down the elegant staircase and dropped your duffel at your feet when you reached the bottom. You took some time to appreciate your surroundings. There was an elaborate painting of a beheaded Medusa over the massive fireplace, black marble pillars, statues, and glass boxes displaying your father’s favorite collectibles; knives, trinkets, an old book here and there.

You remembered being a little girl studying in this room. You would sit on the floor at the coffee table and practice spells repeatedly until they were perfect. You would memorize lore on the leather couches until you’d fall asleep with a book in your hand. You were going to miss this place.

“Yes, Pumpkin?” Cuthbert walked out from his study with a drink in hand. “ I was thinking we could work on some spells today-“ He stopped in his tracks as soon as he saw you.

“What’s all this?” He gestured toward your packed bag on the floor.

“I think- “ You had told yourself you would be strong when you did this, that you’d put your foot down and stick to your guns, but as soon as you saw the hurt in his eyes all of that melted away.

You looked down at your bag and stuffed your hands in the pockets of your hoodie.

“I think it’s time for me to try things out on my own,” you said, looking anywhere but his direction.

Cuthbert walked over to you, setting his glass down on the coffee table on the way. He cupped your face with his hands, making you look at him. He offered you an understanding smile.

“Sit with me, Pumpkin.”

You both sat down on the steps. He wrapped his arm around your shoulder and you rested your head on his chest.

“I knew this day would come. I just didn’t think it would be here so soon. You know I really don’t want you to go.”

“What’s the point of everything you’ve taught me if I never get out there and use any of that knowledge? I could help people…”

Cuthbert laughed to himself, “would you let me finish?”

You nodded.

“I just want you safe Y/N. If you're here, I know nothing will hurt you. You’re so smart and I know you can always handle yourself. You know what to look out for. And your spellwork is almost as good as mine.” Cuthbert was silent for a moment. “I know I’ve made you a prisoner here.”

“I wouldn’t say that I’ve been a prisoner. I’ve always been happy here, I just want to get out there and stretch my legs, you know.”

“If you go, will you just promise me one thing?”

“What’s that?”

“Promise you’ll visit from time to time?”

You pulled back to look him in the eyes. “Dad…of course I will.”

You hugged him and he kissed the top of your head before standing abruptly.

“Well, I suppose if you’re leaving I should give you a parting gift.”

Cuthbert went back to his study and quickly emerged with a small box in his hands. He grabbed your hand and placed the box there. The box was brown with an Aquarian star and other intricate designs burned and carved into it. You opened the box and revealed an old key.

“A key?” you asked, looking up at him.

“If you ever need a place to go, to rest, or to study, head to the center of the country and use this key. You’re going to love what you see in there.”

Your father had never looked at you the way he was looking at you right now. The severity of his expression almost frightened you.

“What’s in there?”

“Your birthright.”


	2. Bunker

You parked in the lot of a small gas-n-sip. You were hoping to get some road food and keep it moving. Entering the shop, you kept your head down and your hat low. You had stolen the car you were driving three states over, but you were still new to this and you couldn’t be too careful.

A quick stroll of the aisles left you with arms full of beef jerky, energy drinks, a tiny first aid kit, and a few of your favorite candy bar. You dumped your findings on the counter and waited for the cashier to ring everything up. You had lingered in the store for long enough and you were ready to get going.

“Road trip?” the clerk asked as he began scanning your items.

“Um, yes.” You said thoughtfully. You hadn’t considered what your ‘story’ was. You had just kept going since you left home over a month ago. In that time, you’d seen your fair share of ghosts, werewolves, witches—who are not friendly, as it turns out—and just yesterday you’d taken out a small vampire nest. That scuffle was the reason for your current getup of shades and long sleeves. Absently, you rubbed your hand over your aching forearm as you flexed your bruised knuckles.

The clerk pulled you from your thoughts. “That’ll be twenty bucks,” he said, eyeing you while he finished bagging your things.

 _“Acipio istud donum,”_ you whispered, looking into his eyes and intentionally brushing his hands as you took your bags.

“You’re welcome!” he called out, waving as you hurried out the door.

You dumped your things on the passenger seat and bumped your head against the headrest, letting out a huff of air. You knew this was wrong, but you hadn’t figured out a way to come up with money while keeping on the move yet. 

You were on your own, and a little spell here or there wouldn’t hurt anyone, right?

A few hours and another car later, you’d gotten your hotel room with that same spell. The room was just like any other you’d gotten used to in the past several weeks; off-color carpeting, stiff sheets, tiny shower, and all the infomercials and local weather channels you could ask for. 

Coming out of the bathroom, you ruffled your hair dry and tossed the towel on the second bed. After drying off with the scratchy towel and tossing that on the bed too, you rummaged through your bag for something to sleep in. Most of your things were dirty, so you opted to sleep in just your bra and panties for the night, vowing to get your laundry done the next day. “I have got to find something better than this,” you said aloud. As if on cue, the box that your father had given you had fallen out of your bag. You picked the box up and paced the hotel room.

“Alright, center of the country? So, Kansas, but where exactly?” You tossed the box up into the air and caught it a few times before pulling out a laptop, (stolen along with a car a few weeks back) and searching ‘center of the country.’

~~~~~~

It was a six-hour drive from your Specter case in Norman, Oklahoma to Lebanon Kansas. You ditched the car a few miles back and opted to huff it with your backpack and duffel the rest of the way.

Finally, you arrived at what looked like an old forgotten factory from the outside. There was a heavy iron door, almost completely below ground level. You used the key and gave the door a push.

The bunker was pitch black when you walked in, save for a few lights on panels and what you would later discover to be vintage computers, and a lit table on the lower level with a world map and measuring tools on it. Next to the steps leading down from the balcony, there were two large switches for the lights. Once the place was lit you heard your father’s voice in your head, “You’re going to love what you find there.”

The first things you noticed were the wardings on the floors at every doorway and hidden into some of the more decorative architecture of the place. It was unmistakably your father’s work. Down the steps on the main level with the map table, there were old computers and radios lining the walls. Just past that there was a library that put the one in your father’s home to shame. It didn’t look like anyone had been here in a while. Books were strewn across tables and some of the shelves were incredibly dusty.

You sat your bags down on a table and pulled your machete from your bag. You went down the steps and made your way through the halls, checking that the place was really empty.

After checking the first few doors and finding empty or abandoned bedrooms, an electrical room, and a well-stocked sickbay, you found yourself at the end of a hallway near a room marked 7B. As with the other rooms, you cracked the door with your machete in hand. When you threw the switch, you were face to face with a shallow room full of files. You flipped the second switch on the panel and a spotlight glowered down from behind the wall of files. You gave a tug and realized that the shelves would glide out of the way. They were hiding what could only be described as a dungeon. There was a chair and a small table near the files, a chair in the middle of the room, a few pairs of handcuffs hanging from the wall in the back, seemingly random items on shelves, and in the center of the floor was a large devil’s trap.

“Nice,” you said aloud, giving an appreciative nod at the room.

Moving the shelves back onto place you noticed a blue file box labeled _“Infamati et obliterati.”_

“That sounds serious,” you thought aloud. You lifted the box off the shelf and rested it on the table by the door. Inside you found a few files, and journal with “CS” burned into the leather cover. You opened it and the inscription—which was beautifully handwritten on the inside cover—read “Stamus Contra Malum. The Journal of Cuthbert Sinclair.” This was your father’s Journal. Suddenly you had a million questions for him. You flipped the switches back and closed the door, the file box tucked under your arm as you continued through the bunker.

You explored the bunker for about an hour before you finally called it quits, deciding that no one else was there. And there was no immediate harm. Aside from the badass dungeon, the main highlights of this place included a massive kitchen with long spoiled food in the refrigerators, a garage full of classic cars, a shooting range, and a laboratory that would certainly come in handy for practicing your spell work.

You made your way back into the library with the blue file box. You set it on the table and spread out the files that were inside. There were only a few, the one with your father’s name on it seemed to be the thickest. You poured yourself a glass of whiskey from the table in the corner and dropped the pin down on the vinyl record player. An old classical tune you had never heard began to play. You took a seat and propped your feet on the table, opening your father’s journal, you read into the night.


	3. Guests

“So,” you said into the phone pinned between your ear and shoulder. You were walking the halls of the bunker with a large file box on your hip. “the nerds kicked you out for being ‘eccentric and irresponsible,’” you mocked with a smirk on your face as you took the steps into the library and slid the box onto the table.

Cuthbert sighed on the other end. He sat at the massive desk in his study, feet propped up with a book in his hands. “Yes, Pumpkin. I understand that my projects were a little…sophisticated. But I only ever had good intentions. We could have put an end to all of that monster business out there if they would have just listened.”

“Well, I can’t say I blame them.” You placed the phone on speaker and set it down on the table.

Cuthbert nodded, taking a sip of scotch. “That’s right, Pumpkin,” he spoke automatically, flipping a page. “What?” he said, shutting his book and sitting it down on the desk. “You agree with those librarians?”

You smirked. Of course he hadn’t been paying attention. “Dad. You ARE eccentric and irresponsible. I mean, you have a Creature Zoo full of mind controlled monsters.” As if you suddenly remembered, you slammed down the file you were holding, tossing an accusatory glance at the phone as if it were him, “You let me play with them as a child! That’s eccentric and irresponsible on its own. Don’t get me started on how you raised me. Who arms an 8-year-old with knives and an Enochian spell book?!”

“Alright, alright. I get your point.” He picked up his book from the desk again. “My methods may be unorthodox, but you’ve turned out that much better for it if you ask me,” he said, adjusting his reading glasses as he looked for a page. “You’re ten times more talented than any of those librarians I mentored back then.”

“Of course you’d think that about your own daughter.”

“I mean it, Y/N. You’re a talented young woman.”

“Thanks, Dad.” You looked over at his journal that had been resting on the other table. “You know, you could always come back here.”

“No, I could never go back to the bunker.”

“Well, it’s not like they’re going to re-expel you from Hogwarts,” you joked. “The Men of Letters are all…gone, and this place is amazing.” You sat back in your chair taking an appreciative glance at your surroundings. “We could pick up where they left off-“

“That life’s over for me, Y/N. No,” his tone was suddenly more serious. It caught you off guard. You were speechless for a short moment; opening your mouth to say something and then closing it again when the words didn’t come.

“Right,” you finally breathed out, looking down, “obviously.”

“Look, sweetie I’ve,” he hesitated. “I’m meeting someone about a 12th century cursed skull soon. Talk later?”

“Yeah,” it came out as barely a whisper. You cleared your throat and spoke a little louder. “Yeah, talk later. Love you.”

“Bye, Pumpkin.”

~~~~~~

You had been living in the bunker for nearly a month now. You read for days, about previous members, about rituals and spells and all kinds of lore. You took your time to get familiar with what your father said was your birthright. As it turned out, he had raised you with quite a few of the standards and codes of the Men of Letters.

You had also done very little hunting since you’d been here; only taking on two or three cases, and they were always nearby. Cuthbert had told you where the Men of Letters liked to hide their emergency cash; you used it to buy yourself a laptop and some clothes supplies for the bunker.

You had also set out to digitizing the archives from room 7B, cleaning out the kitchen, and giving the place a few modern upgrades. There was now an automatic opener for the garage. You favored the blue ’54 Corvette in there so you would take her out to run your errands. The Library now has a mini fridge for your beer, seeing as you spend most of your time in there memorizing lore. The kitchen surprisingly didn’t need much upgrading, just a good scrub down.

You found out that you loved to cook, and you were quite good at it. You’ve even started yourself a small collection of cookbooks. Right now, with Asia’s ‘Soul Survivor ’ blaring through the kitchen from your cell phone on the table, you had two pies—one apple, the other blueberry—baking in one oven, a few burgers going in the other, and you were currently chopping up fresh veggies for a stew. You liked to cook a few days in advance.

~~~~~~

Sam and Dean had landed themselves on one case after the other, getting them further and further away from the bunker. They hadn’t been home in weeks.

“I cannot wait to get back into my own bed,” Dean reminisced, “When we get home, I’m gonna sleep for a week.”

“I hear ya,” Sam said yawning from the passenger seat. He had his head buried in his tablet.

Dean looked over. “Oh, don’t tell me you’re looking for another case. Sam, no. There’s a memory foam mattress with my name on it…literally!”

“Well yeah, I just figured if there was anything on the way…wait, literally?” Sam looked up from the tablet.

“That’s how we got into this mess in the first place. Look, just give me a few days and then we can get back out there. I need a break, you need a break…”

“I don’t need a break,” Sam said, scratching at the scruff on his chin that had begun to grow since he hadn’t been shaving as often.

Dean glared over at Sam. “Alright,” Sam said, closing the tablet and raising his hands in surrender.

A few hours later, Sam and Dean pulled up to the front entrance of the bunker. They didn’t bother to park in the garage this time. Sam got out and headed for the trunk.

“Leave it,” Dean called as he headed for the door, pulling his key from his pocket, “I’ll bring it in later.”

As soon as Dean stepped onto the balcony he smelled food cooking. Automatically, he pulled out his gun and checked his surroundings, immediately in hunting mode again. How the hell was anyone in the bunker right now? This was supposed to be the most secure place on Earth. No one could get in without the key, and Dean had that in his pocket. Hell, he’d just used it. Sam came in close behind him, taking out his gun and lowering his stance when he saw Dean with his. “What’s going on-“ Sam started, “Do you hear that?” he whispered.

“You SMELL that?” Dean responded.

They stalked down the stairs and into the War Room. The music grew louder and the smell grew stronger. “Is that pie? …and Asia?” Dean mouthed to Sam.

Sam shrugged.

He and Dean cleared the library. There were files and books spread out all over the tables. Was someone looking for something? They made their way down the hall. The music was definitely coming from the kitchen. When they rounded the corner they stepped in with their guns raised and ready.

What they saw caught them by surprise. It was you, barely clothed in your matching bra and panties, with your back to the doorway. You hadn’t heard your new visitors over your music; oblivious that you were in the gunsights of two of the most dangerous hunters there were. You continued chopping veggies, occasionally making wild gestures and using the knife as a microphone.

Dean, having had enough, crept near the table and turned your music off.

You turned around to investigate, finally realizing that you were on the business end of not one, but two guns. Your heart began to race.

“Who are you?” the tall one demanded.

You adjusted the grip of the knife in your hand, taking a defensive stance and figuring your best way to gain the upper hand here.

“Who are you?” you spat back. Looking from one to the other, slowly creeping towards the shorter one. Did he just check you out? You thought he might be kind of cute if he didn’t have a gun pointed at you right now.

“Don’t.” Dean pulled back the hammer on his gun. He was going to be a problem.

The tall one tensed. You could tell he didn’t want to shoot, but that he would if you made the wrong move. You raised your hands in surrender, placing the knife on the counter towards the door as you took a slow step forward. “Abi, ab…” you whispered, looking at the cute one, still approaching.

“What?”

“…oculis…” you pointed your finger at him.

“Hey! Don’t move!” He raised his gun.

“These are witch-killing bullets,” the tall one warned.

“…meis!” you shouted the last part as the short one pulled the trigger.

He vanished.

You immediately ran at the other one. He fired, missing you. You ducked under his arms and jumped on his back, making him drop the gun. You wrapped your arms and legs around his neck and body squeezing as hard as you could. He backed up and slammed his body against the wall. It sent a pain through your shoulder, but you didn’t let up. He began to pull at your arms and legs, trying to get you off of him.

He went down on his knees, struggling to grab the gun again. Finally, he fell unconscious and you eased his body onto the floor.

~~~~~~

Suddenly, Dean found himself outside of the bunker. The shot he fired hit the iron door.

“What the hell?”

Quickly, he went to the trunk of the Impala and changed out his regular bullets for witch-killing ones. Sam had been bluffing earlier. He grabbed the key from his pocket and rushed into the bunker again.

“Sam?!” he called as he carefully made his way down the hall. He turned into the kitchen ready to fire, except he didn’t see you anywhere. Sam was lying on the floor. Dean walked over to him and checked for his pulse. When he felt it, he let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. Dean cleared the kitchen and headed back up the short steps, risking one more glance at Sam on the floor.

It had been a mistake. The next thing he knew, he felt a sharp pain in his head as he hit the floor. The last thing he saw before his vision faded was you walking towards Sam.


	4. Winchester

You stood in the center of the kitchen with your hands in your hair, trying to catch your breath as you looked between the two men on the floor. Who were they? Even more important, how in the world did they get in here?!

You rushed to the cabinet looking for some herbs. You grabbed lavender oil, crushed valerian flower, and crushed passionflower. Sprinkling some from each bottle onto your hand, you quickly mixed them together with your finger.

You walked over to the tall one and rubbed some of the mixture on his forehead. “Somnum,” you recited, repeating the process with the other one in the hallway. This would ensure they wouldn’t wake up before you could move them.

~~~~~~

Dean woke first, wincing at the pain in his head. He was tied to a chair in the center of the dungeon. Sam was tied up in a chair next to him, still unconscious.

“Sam.” Dean pulled at the ropes, but they only got tighter. “Sam!” He looked around the room.

Sam stirred. Groaning and squinting as he came to. He tried to straighten out but the bindings made it difficult. “Dean?” Sam looked over at Dean, trying to pull out of the ropes.

“Don’t, they’ll only get tighter.”

Sam stopped struggling and settled for trying to straighten up in the chair. “Where is she?”

“I haven’t seen her. How did a witch get in the bunker?”

“I don’t know. Maybe she was already here? Like Dorothy. She’s pretty strong, she choked me out.”

“Yeah, she zapped me out of the bunker and got the jump on me when I came back in. Can you reach anything?”

“Wouldn’t matter if I could. Look.” Sam nodded his head towards the table a few feet away. Their knives and guns lie on it.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean groaned. He began to pray to Cas.

Just then you walked into the room. Now you were more modestly covered than before, wearing a flattering pair of jeans and a black button-up, but still barefoot. You had a plate of fresh blueberry pie in your hands.

“I knew I smelled pie,” Dean mumbled. Sam rolled his eyes.

“Alright,” you hopped up on the table and took a bite of pie. “Who are you and how did you get into my bunker? And where did you get this?” You held up the little box that you had gotten off one of them. It was identical to the one your father gave you.

Sam tried at the ropes again. “Your bunk-lady, who the hell are YOU?” He was getting impatient.

Dean saw how casual you were. Anyone that confident had to be sure their plan was foolproof. Dean realized that they wouldn’t get out of these ropes unless you let them out, and you wouldn’t do that unless they talked. “We’re the Winchesters. I’m Dean, that’s my brother Sam.” He was so matter of fact, like their names should be all the answer you needed.

You took another bite and set your plate down. “Is that supposed to mean something to me?” you asked stepping closer. You snatched a bottle off the table and splashed holy water on them. The brothers shared a look.

“We’re not demons,” Sam grunted at the ropes that had become uncomfortably tight. He thought for a moment. You had them tied up in a devil’s trap. If you had been a witch, there were other ways you could have restrained them. Other ways you could have made them talk. When he thought about it, you hadn’t really harmed them, only defended yourself, “and you’re not a witch, are you? Are you…a Woman of Letters?”

Dean looked from Sam to you as if he suddenly realized. He spat some water from his mouth. “Look, we’re cooperating, just loosen these ropes and we can sit down and talk about this!” Dean pressed his eyes closed, pulling at the ropes a little more.

“Those ropes will get tighter and tighter until you strangle yourself if you keep that up. How did you get in my bunker?” You were not going to let up until you got some answers. You had lived here for nearly a month without so much as a peep from any other humans.

“We’re Men of Letters too! We’ve been living here for months. Henry Winchester was our grandfather. Just check the archive, look him up,” Sam pleaded, struggling to control his breaths.

You turned to leave the room, stopping to take your plate of pie with you. You slammed the door to the dungeon behind you, storming down the hallway towards the library where you had moved many of the archive files. You stopped by the kitchen to grab your phone on the way, dialing your father as you continued down the hall.

“Hi, Pumpkin. How’s the fortress?” he asked cheerfully.

“Who is Henry Winchester?” you interrogated, getting straight to the point. The name Winchester sounded familiar from your reading, but your father hadn’t given you any clue that other people might show up to lay claim on the bunker, in fact, he’d told you that the Men of Letters were all dead.

“Henry? What’s he- is everything alright, Y/N?”

“No! Everything is not alright,” you fussed. “Two brutes just showed up claiming to be Men of Letters. They said Henry Winchester was their grandfather.”

“What?” Cuthbert stood up from his seat on the couch. “Did they hurt you?”

“I’m fine. Who is Henry Winchester?”

“Henry…he was a friend.” He started pacing the room. “I was his mentor before the Men of Letters gave me the boot. We kept in contact after until he disappeared. He had a son, John, but I never kept up with him. I don’t know if he had any children.”

“Thanks. I’ll call you later.” You hung up the phone before he could say anything else.

You pulled out your laptop and searched their names. The first match showed their mugshots, old ones by the look of it—they still had baby faces. They had a few serious run-ins with the law and had been presumed dead multiple times. Public record said they were born to John and Mary Winchester in Lawrence, Kansas. Their story checked out. Immediately, you felt awful. These two were definitely Men of Letters, at the very least the bunker was as much their birthright as it was yours. And here you’ve tied them up in constrictor knots and tossed them in the dungeon. You owed them an apology.

~~~~~~

“Really think she might be a Legacy?” Dean asked, struggling to look over.

“I don’t know. It adds up. We have been gone for weeks. She could have shown up right after we left. Settled in, got comfortable. I mean what would you do in her shoes?”

“Same thing,” he hummed, “probably worse.” He spoke again after a moment. “I thought you said they all died. I mean, finding living members was the first thing you tried to do, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Sam replied thoughtfully.

The pressure on Deans arms and body in the chair was sudden released as the ropes that held him fell to the floor. He got up and turned around. “Cas! Finally.” Cas cut the ropes holding Sam to the chair.

“What’s going on?” He looked past them, walking to their weapons on the table. “Were you being tortured? How did anyone get into the bunker?” he turned back to them.

“No, we’re fine, this is all just a misunderstanding-“

Before Dean could finish his sentence, you stepped into the room with a knife in your hands, ready to cut their ropes and apologize. Immediately you felt the urge to puke, instinctively grabbing your stomach to quell the feeling. You saw Sam and Dean out of their restraints, and there was a third man in the room. His face remained calm as his eyes glowed white and he stepped forward to place his palm on your forehead. You screamed, dropping the knife. Suddenly your ears were ringing and all you could see was a blinding white light as a wave of the worst pain you’d ever felt washed over your entire body.


	5. Angel

You lie naked on your side on a long table in your father’s living room, covered only by a silken red sash that draped over your chest and low on your hips. There was a bowl of various herbs and ingredients by your head, and the Enochian spell book your father had given you on your 8th birthday at your feet. Your father stood at a small cart, mixing ingredients in another bowl. The usual furniture and display cases that decorated the living room had been pushed aside to make room for everything. 

Cuthbert walked in front of you and knelt down to be eye-level with you. He had a solid quartz dagger in his hand. “Are you sure you’re ready for this, Pumpkin? Once we start, we have to finish it.”

You nodded, trying not to look at the dagger.

“Give me your arm.”

You held it out for him. He grabbed the bowl at your head, and placed it on the floor. With the knife, he ran the blade from just inside your elbow down to your wrist. As it cut through your flesh, you squeezed your eyes shut, biting your lip to distract yourself from the pain. The blood flowed effortlessly down your arm and over your fingertips into the bowl. After a short while, he placed his hand over your wound and spoke another incantation to heal your arm. It felt warm and the pain was completely gone.

Cuthbert placed the bowl back near your head. He took the second bowl from the cart and spread the contents in a circle around your body. You felt a warmth spread throughout you as a bright light glowed from your chest. The warmth was slowly turning unto an unbearable heat. You curled into a ball, trying to contain your sobs.

Your father brushed your hair back with his hand. “Do you want something to bite down on? We’ve still got a ways to go.”

You shook your head “no,” If it were him in this position, he wouldn’t need anything and you were trying to show him that you could be just as strong as he was. 

He took the bowl at your head and poured the mixture over you; blood and herbs and ground up bone and crystal spilled out over your middle. Cuthbert grabbed the spell book by your feet and opened it to a page that had been dogeared. He began reading from it. The heat you felt all over seemed to steady rather than continue to grow hotter, but the mixture on your side was searing. You writhed and sobbed until you passed out, unable to take the pain anymore.

Cuthbert hesitated for only a second before continued reading. He knew he couldn’t stop before the spell was finished. His voice grew louder and louder as the table and things in the room began to shake. He could even hear thunder outside of the mansion. The spell continued and the mixture accumulated on your side into a pattern of runes and burned red hot into your skin. Finally, the commotion calmed.

Cuthbert slammed the book on the table and moved to touch your face. “Y/N. Can you hear me, Pumpkin?”

Your only response was a groan. Cuthbert grabbed a blanket that had been on one of the couches and wrapped you in it. He carried you up to your room and placed you in your bed. He set up a plate of herbs on your altar. He sprinkled in some dust, and a purple flame flared up from it before it fizzled out and the herbs began to smolder. “Happy birthday, sweetheart,” he whispered before dimming the lights. cracking the door and leaving you to rest.

~~~~~~

You felt a cool breeze wipe across your face, It carried flecks of sand and the smell of salt water. When you opened your eyes, you found that you were sitting on a beach. The sound of the waves crashing against each other in the distance was peaceful.

The sickening feeling in your stomach came back. You looked around and the man who touched you before was walking towards you. You knew you should, but you didn’t feel afraid. Something about this beach made you feel safe and at ease. “You’re an angel.” You said as he came closer, the feeling in your stomach getting more annoying.

“I am. My name is Castiel. Where did you take us?”

“I…I didn’t take us anywhere. I didn’t do this.”

“What is your name?” The angel made a face at you. He looked confused and angry …and bored?

“Y/N. Castiel, I don’t understand what’s happening here.”

“I think we’re in your head. I tried to smite you, but your soul saved you from my power.”

“Oh.” You said it simply, lifting up your shirt to reveal the runes that had been burned into your hip years ago. It just looked like a tattoo now, and it was suddenly warm to the touch. “ I guess I did bring us here…”

You thought back to when you were sixteen and your father performed the ritual on you. You were in physical pain for a week because of it. Cuthbert said that you would need protection from the Angels, but he never said why exactly and it had caused you so much pain that neither of you could bring yourselves to talk about it afterwards. For the most part he was great, but sometimes, like with the ritual, the magic seemed to be more important than anything and you felt as if you didn’t know him at all. As time moved forward, you brushed it off as your father’s paranoia, or one of his moments where he let himself get carried away with his obsession.

“Those runes are the result of an ancient Enochian spell. They ward your body from angel magic. That spell utilizes the power of your soul. Y/N, where did you learn this?” He stepped closer, admiring the marks on your hip.

You shoved your shirt down and backed away. “I…use my soul to power all of my spells, but my father did this to me. He said this would protect me if the Angels tried to hurt me.”

Castiel glared at you as if he were trying to understand. You were trying to understand too. Castiel had tried to smite you and it hadn’t worked. You’d never heard of such a thing. Before today, you’d never seen an Angel. You had only read about them in your father’s library, and in the files the Men of Letters had on them. All in all, you didn’t have much information to go on. You never believed you would meet an Angel. Castiel, despite trying to smite you (arguably in self-defense), didn’t seem hostile. In fact, he was nothing like you imagined an angel would be.

You looked around the beach, wrapping your arms around yourself to fight the chill that came with the breeze. The beach seemed to be the only thing there was. There were no beach houses or light houses. No signs of anyone else. Castiel had mentioned in passing, that they might be stuck inside your head. You bit your lip, worried by the thought that you might not be able to leave this place.

“Can you get us out of here, Castiel?”

“I can’t. The spell that did this- it’s older than I am.” Castiel focused, trying to teleport to somewhere familiar. “I don’t seem to have any powers here either.”

~~~~~~

Sam and Dean had seen angels smite someone before. The light was always very bright, but it was never as blindingly bright as it was this time. As you screamed, there was a wave of power that came off you, knocking them down to the floor. When they got up they say you and Castiel lying motionless on the floor. Dean hurried over to Cas, trying to wake him. He shook him by the collar and smacked his face a little, calling his name but he didn’t respond. Sam had had the same luck when he tried to wake you.

Three days had gone by. They had since found your bedroom and placed you on the bed there, and put Castiel in room 15. They searched through your things for any information on your identity. Beyond your journal—which at least gave them your name, a picture of you and a man who was probably your father, and the tattoo on your hip, they didn’t find much. Sam and Dean sat in the library among stacks of lore, trying to find a way to wake you and Cas. Sam was currently making his way through your journal for the third time.

The words and images of the book that dean was holding seemed to blur together. The more he tried to focus, the more distracted he became. You had at least been breathing still, but Cas-there was no way to tell if he was alright. They best they could do was keep watch over his vessel and hope. Dean slammed the book down. He brought his hands to his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose and sighing. “I need a break.” He stood abruptly, grabbing his jacket as he made his way up the stairs and out of the bunker.

Sam sighed. He sat your journal down and ran his hands through his hair, trying to think. He pulled out his phone and looked at the picture he had taken of your tattoo again. It looked ancient, but he didn’t recognize it. It wasn’t Latin or Sumarian, it could have been Enochian, but it looked…off. So far they had been researching witches and old spells with no luck. He thought of Cas, and how whatever happened seemed to have a worse effect on him than you. Maybe he needed a new perspective, he looked in the area of the library that had the books on Angels. Immediately he noticed a book that definitely hadn’t been there before they left. It was your Enochian spell book.

He pulled it off the shelf along with a stack of others and brought them to the table. He opened your book first. He on page one. Sam had never heard of the many of the spells in this book or the things they were intended to do. An hour had passed by before dean came back into the bunker.

“You alright?” he asked, looking up at dean as he stripped off his jacket and tossed his keys on the table.

“Yeah. Fine.” Dean rubbed his hand down his face. “You know, maybe we’ve been looking at this the wrong way, we’ve been researching witches, maybe we need to look at-“

“Angels,” Sam said cutting him off. “Yeah, figured that out about an hour ago. And I found this.” He held up the book he was reading. Dean had never seen it before. “It’s an Enochian spellbook and it belongs to Y/N.”

Sam handed the book to Dean. He flipped through it looking for the symbols on your tattoo first. “Anyway, I think I already found what we’re looking for.” Sam grabbed the book from Dean flipping through to a specific page. He pointed out the symbols that matched the ones on your body. Most of the book was in Enochian, but thankfully, there were plenty sticky notes and sheets of notebook paper taped to it with notes and translations in English. Thank Chuck. “Ritual for protection against malevolent Angels.” He pointed to another part of the note. “…wards the host body against the powers of Angels.”

“So because Cas tried to smite her, the spell kicked in and…what, makes them both comatose? Dosen’t sound so beneficial if you ask me.”

“Yeah, no. So, anyway,” Sam rummaged through some of the other books on the table. “I’ve been reading and get this, I think they were both sent to ‘the astral plane’ or at least Y/N’s perception of the astral plane. If the spell is too powerful for the host, then it locks her there to protect her. I think we can reverse it and wake her up, but I can’t find anything about what it did to Cas.

~~~~~~

You and Castiel had been stuck on the beach for nearly a month before anything changed. In that time you had told him about your father and your time in the bunker, and he had told you about Sam and Dean and his life before he met them. You theorized that you were stuck in some deep part of the Astral Plane, and you tried tapping into your soul to get out, but you hadn’t had any luck so far. Your only hope was that Sam and Dean would find a way to get you out.

The two of you had become quite close in that time though, and you were now comfortable with Castiel. Cas, as he told you to call him. You were sitting on the beach, wearing his coat—when you became frustrated, it would get colder and he would let you wear it—when the storm started. In the distance, you could see thick clouds and lightning striking the water. You thought you heard a voice coming from the sky.

“That sounds like Sam.” Castiel said, standing up.

“Do you think they found a spell?” It was getting darker on the beach.

“I hope so.” Castiel grabbed your hand as everything faded to black.


	6. Routine

You woke with a start. Sitting up and gasping for air. Your body had been still and unfed for three days and it certainly felt like it. You were exhausted both physically and mentally. With wobbly arms, you grabbed your head to try and calm the massive headache that had come.

“Y/N?” It was Cas. He stood at the side of your bed in your room, reaching his hand down to help you up.

“You’re okay?!” You lunged at him, hugging him tightly. To your slight surprise, he hugged you back.

~~~~~~

You had sat down with Sam, Cas, and Dean, and explained most everything. You told them that you had been given the key from your father—Magnus, as you called him—and that you had moved into the bunker. Sam and Dean did notice the alias, however. As it turned out, you did show up right after they’d left. Cas had told you a lot about Sam and Dean while you two were trapped, but Sam told you more about them being Men of Letters Legacies. Dean seems to be the only one holding a grudge over this. It was all just one misunderstanding after another with him.

“Lemme get this straight. You two were trapped in the ‘astral plane’ for two months,” Dean made sarcastic air quotes with his hands as he got up from his chair, “even though it’s only been three days here, and now you’re besties?” He was angry.

“Dean,” It was Castiel’s turn to diffuse him. “This is my fault. I didn’t think before I tried to smite Y/N. If I had waited none of this would have happened.”

“No, Cas, this isn’t your fault,” The way Dean was glaring at you made you uncomfortable. You stuffed your hands into the pockets of Castiel’s jack that you were still wearing.

“Look,” you said, finally fed up with Dean’s shit. “I told you I didn’t do that on purpose. I’ve already apologized for tying you up. Cas is fine, we’re all fine. I say we call it bygones and let it all go.” You crossed your arms leaning against a bookcase.

“God, I’m hungry!” You said, dismissing yourself to the kitchen after a short silence. Sam and Dean exchanged guilty looks before they heard you shouting from down the hall.

“YOU ATE MY FOOD?!”

~~~~~~

As the weeks went by, you and Sam seemed to find a comfortable place with each other, bonding over your love of books. He was impressed with the amount of lore you had memorized over the years. Tensions with you and Dean were at an all-time low. Shortly after your first few days in the bunker together the two of you settled your grievances over food. Dean complimented your cooking and offered to make peace over dinner since he ate most of your food while you were knocked out.

Eventually, the three of you started hunting together. Sometimes you would go on the road with them and others you would stay at the bunker, lending them your knowledge over the phone as they needed it and you all seemed to fall into a comfortable routine with each other.

Soon enough, you were doing everything you could to help them take down Abaddon. Sam and Dean had begun to hunt separately more often, arguing over and over about Dean letting a rogue angel possess Sam to save him and Sam’s unwillingness to do the same for Dean. It was often an awkward spot to be in since you could understand both of their motives. This often left you to either pick a side or hold down the base in the bunker when they would go their separate ways. 

This time, you walked in on them trading words at the table in the war room. Dean was standing by the steps, jacket on and keys and bag in hand and Sam sat at the table, his face buried in his laptop.

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” they both barked in unison.

“You wanna try running that by me one more time?” you asked, crossing your arms.

“We found a case a few states over, but Sam,” Dean waved his arms dismissively in Sam’s direction,” doesn’t think we should go.”

“We should be focusing on a way to take down Abaddon,” Sam sighed. “It’s probably just a salt and burn, Dean. We can put another hunter on that case easy.”

Neither of them would budge, so once again, you chose a side. “Well, if it is just a salt and burn, then we’ll be back in no time,” you chirped, trying to ease the tension in the room.

“We?” said Dean.

“Yes, we. I’ll make sure it’s over quickly and we can get back here and research.” You looked at Sam, “Promise.”

He gave you a weak smile before turning back to his laptop and stack of books.

“Just give me a sec to grab my bag, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean mumbled as he headed up the steps for the door.

~~~~~~

“Dean?” You woke up and took in your surroundings, you had been knocked unconscious. Looking around you saw him lying in a heap on the floor, your knife sticking out from his side. “Dean!” You yelled going over to him and smacking him a few times in the face. “Dean, I need you to get up!”

Seeing the blood seeping from his shirt, you began to panic as he wasn’t coming to. Thinking quickly, you removed the knife and did a spell to slow the bleeding. None of you had ever been injured like this on a hunt before (at least not since you joined) as you caught your breath your adrenaline finally left you. After the wave of exhaustion, you felt a heavy and stinging pain in your chest and your eyes were watering. On instinct, you swiped your hand over your eyes and looked at it, revealing thick black ectoplasm. Immediately, you remembered what happened.

The simple Salt and Burn had turned out to be anything but. When you got to the cabin, it turned out to be a very angry spirit and you had gone and let yourself get possessed by it. In the end, Dean shot you with a rock salt round—hence the pain in your chest—but not before you pulled your knife on him and stabbed him with it. 

There was a bowl on the table next to you, something had been burning in it. It looked like Dean had still managed to find whatever was keeping the ghost here and burned it. Good.

~~~~~~

“Are you sure he’s gonna be alright?” you asked Sam as he closed the door to Dean’s room. You had been standing in the hall by the door and picking at your fingernails.

“Yeah, he’ll be fine. A few stitches and some whiskey and he’ll be back to himself in no time,” Sam joked. His expression changed when he saw the worry on your face.

“This is my fault. I knew something like this would happen eventually.”

“Hey,” Sam started, placing a hand on your shoulder. “This could have happened to any one of us. Give yourself a break. Besides, Dean’s come back from much worse than a knife wound, believe me.”

You remembered some of the things Castiel had told you about what Sam and Dean had been through and subsequently come back from. You grabbed Sam’s hand and gave it a little squeeze before he wrapped his arms around you in a comforting embrace.

“Thanks, Sam,” your voice was muffled by his shirt.

Sam let go and walked down the hall to his room. You, however, decided to pace back and forth in front of Dean’s door, deciding whether you should go in, or go to your own room for a while.

“You’re gonna wear a hole in the floor if you don’t stop pacing like that, kid.” Dean’s voice startled you from your thoughts, and you nearly jumped at the sudden intrusion. “You coming in or not?”

With a deep breath, you pushed the door open and made your way to the side of Dean’s bed, he had his back resting against the headboard. “I um…” you struggled to find the words for an appropriate apology. “Dean, I’m so-“

“Hey, don’t worry about it,” he cut you off before you could finish. “Happens to the best of us. No hard feelings, Y/N, really. That wasn’t you.”

He offered you a glass of whiskey and grimaced as he scooted over, patting the space next to him. You took the glass and joined him on the bed, keeping your eyes on the brown liquid as you turned the glass in your hand.

“Are you really okay?” You whispered. You had been so worried about Dean while he lie bleeding on the floor in that cabin. You two got along pretty well after you settled initial grievances when they came back to the bunker a few months ago, but you hadn’t realized how much he had come to mean to you in that time. Your heart pounded at the thought of losing him.

Dean sighed a chuckle. “I’ll be as good as new in no time.”

You took a sip and you both remained silent for a while before Dean spoke again. “You know, I panicked back there.”

You looked over at him, “what?”

“When I turned around and saw you with ectoplasm leaking from your eyes I froze up. All I could think was how I’d gotten you into this. For a moment I didn’t see a way out and when I thought you were too far gone I realized…”

“Dean,” you started, “none of this was your fault either-”

Before you knew it, Dean had leaned over and planted a kiss square on your lips. It didn’t last long enough before he pulled away, looking you in the eyes. “Is that okay?”

Your eyes searched his for a moment as your head flooded with a million thoughts. Soon enough, you wrapped your arms around his neck and answered him with a slow but fierce kiss. You let everything you had been feeling out into that kiss as Dean wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer.


	7. Blade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own Supernatural or any of its respective characters or properties.

Dean woke early the next morning. Carefully he pulled his arms from around you, trying not to wake you. He figured you’d be exhausted from the hunt, so he opted to let you sleep a little longer. 

You woke up an hour or so later, well rested and in Dean’s bed. Stretching your arms out, you were surprised to find that he wasn’t there. You looked over at the clock on the nightstand, hopping up when you realized it was nearly afternoon.. 

Walking into the Library, you saw Dean pacing, holding a familiar red book in his hands. You stopped dead in your tracks, knowing what he would probably find within its covers. Your father had a copy of this book in his library at home. Sam looked up at you from his seat, your strange behavior not going unnoticed.

“Hey, you ever hear anything about the First Blade?” Dean asked you, not quite looking up as he continued to pace, flipping a page.

Suddenly, your heart was racing. In fact, you had read quite a few things about the First Blade. It was a nasty thing, a blade that could kill anything--leaving a horrible bloody trail behind it everywhere it had gone. It was rumored to be even worse when it was paired with the Mark of Cain.

Cuthbert would look for the blade off and on, contacting dealers and monsters alike, hoping to add it to his collection one day. Sometimes he would get close, only to lose all traces of it for years at a time. The stories from the lore would give you nightmares as a child, and as a teen you would try to talk your father out of trying to find it when he would get obsessed, arguing that there was no way to have the mark as well since Cain was the last person known to have it and, “what’s the point of searching for one when you know you can never have the other?” He would always smile and respond with, “Pumpkin, If I ever find Cain I’ll put him in my Zoo too.”

“Y/N?” It was Sam.

You blinked, and they were both staring at you now. Crap. “What?” you asked, pretending you hadn’t heard them before.

Dean spoke up, dropping the book to his side. Your eyes were locked on it. “The First Blade. Ever heard of it?”

“No.” You spoke with finality.

“Really?” Sam frowned, searching your face, “You’ve read everything, I’m surprised.”

You swallowed thickly, prying your eyes away from the book in Dean’s hand and trying to calm yourself. “I…I’ve never heard of it.” You lied, hoping it was convincing enough as you turned to make a hasty exit.

You power walked down the hall, heading for the wall of files in the Dungeon to hide away anything else they would find on the First Blade or the Mark of Cain. Even though it could kill anything, you would never have suggested it to Sam and Dean as an option for ganking Abaddon. The price was too high and you were terrified of the monster it would no doubt make out of Sam or Dean over time. Finding the folders you were looking for, you tucked them under your arm and headed for the garage.

Standing at the side of your blue Corvette, you cast a quick glamour on the files. Now, to the common eye, they would look like they only held recipes. You tucked them into your go-bag and hopped in the driver seat and hauled ass out of the Garage. You would have to find another way to kill Abaddon.

You pulled out your phone, dialing your father’s number.

“Hi, Pumpkin! How are things in the fortress?”

“Things are good, Dad.” You were so happy to hear his voice on the other end, it had been weeks since you last talked. “Could I come by in a bit?”

“Of course, Y/N. You don’t have to ask, you know that. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, I just…I’ll talk to you when I get there-“

“Great! Listen, Pumpkin, since you’re heading this way, I need you to pick some things up for me.”

~~~~~~

Sam and Dean looked after your retreating form in inquisitive silence.

Sam cleared his throat. “Did you two..”

“Nope.” Dean pinched the bridge of his nose, I don’t know what that was about.”

“So that was-“

“Weird? Yeah.” Dean crossed his arms, thinking. “You think she’s hiding something?”

Sam pulled his laptop closer. He pulled up the digital index you had been working on off and on since you moved in and searched ‘First Blade.’ Immediately he found one result with a note on the file it could be found in along with some books that mentioned it, including the one Dean had in his hands right now. Sam looked up at Dean. “I know she is.” Sam sighed, running a hand through his hair.

Sam and Dean looked through the Archive, but they were unable to find the files and you were gone.

“She’s not answering her phone,” Dean said, typing up a quick text before tucking it back into his pocket.

~~~~~~

You parked your car just off the dirt road. Stepping out, you grabbed your bag with the archive folders inside it and carefully balanced the boxes your father had you pick up in your arms along with a couple bags of groceries. You were determined not to make more than one trip. Walking to the center of the clearing where the invisible mansion was hidden, you called out, not wanting to set the boxes down only to pick them right back up. “Dad? My hands are full, can you let me in?” You waited for a moment and there was no answer. You huffed, ready to set the things in your arms on the ground when you heard faint whispering of the spell to get inside. Seconds later, a door appeared out of a thick cloud of smoke and you walked through.

The next thing you knew, the boxes were being taken out of your hands and your father was setting them down on the table in the lab.

“How was the drive?” he asked, grabbing a box and opening it. He was set up to catalog the new ‘collectibles.’

After putting away the groceries in the kitchen, you explained how Abaddon was on the loose and you needed a way to kill her before things could get any worse. You didn’t talk much about Sam and Dean, but he was amused to learn that hunters had taken up roots in the Bunker and he was especially interested since they were Henry’s grandsons. You told him how they had begun to look for the First Blade and how uneasy it made you feel.

“Anyway,” you continued. “I don’t think they’ll ever find it, I mean, you’ve been looking for it for as long as I can remember with no luck.”

Cuthbert snickered quietly as he continued going through the boxes, adding the items to his catalog. You didn’t notice.

“We need to find a different way to kill Abaddon, so I took these so they wouldn’t find them in the archive.” You showed him the thin folders you had nabbed and glamoured. “Do you have any ideas?”

He stopped working, resting his hands on the table as he thought about an alternative. You could practically see the gears turning in his head. “Well, you’re not going to want to hear this, but the First Blade and the Mark of Cain would get the job done.”

You sighed, “Dad. I asked you for a different way to kill her.” Your phone beeped again and you pulled it out, revealing a few missed calls, a text from Sam—‘What are you hiding? We’re friends, Y/N. You can tell me what’s going on.’ And a text from Dean—‘What do you know?’ 

You shoved your phone back in your back pocket without responding to the messages. How were you going to explain this to them?

“Maybe we can banish her somewhere or I don’t know…blow her up? you said absently.”

Cuthbert took off his reading glasses, breathing on them and wiping the fog away with a handkerchief as he looked at you. “Those hunters are wearing off on you, I can tell.” You just rolled your eyes at him. “Well, you know what I always say.” You did know what he was going to say. “There’s a spell for damn near everything,” you spoke in unison. “You just have to find it,” he finished. 

“Will you help me research later, then?” you asked as you made to leave, ready to get a start on dinner.

“Sure thing,” he said, grabbing the last box. “Or you could just borrow this.”

You turned and walked back to his side as he opened the box. Inside it was a massive, sharpened jaw bone that still had the teeth attached to it. The end was wrapped in a leather coil and had been fashioned into a handle.

“Oh my God.” You stepped back.

Cuthbert clapped his hands, rubbing them together with a huge smile on his face as he picked it up and turned it in his hands to inspect it. “I know! Isn’t she a beaut!?”

Your father had finally found the First Blade.


	8. Mark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own Supernatural or any of it's characters.

You were staring at the First Blade. Your father had placed it in your hands and you froze up, feeling sick that you were holding the thing that had terrified you for so much of your life. A thing that had killed so many. Sure you had done your fair share of killing as a hunter, but you could practically feel the evil radiating off of this blade. It was too much for you.

“No. Dad, this is not an option.” Your hands trembled and your eyes began to well up with tears until Cuthbert took the blade from you, setting it back in its box on the table.

“Pumpkin, it’s just a knife.” He rubbed your shoulders reassuringly. “That’s all it is. It’s just a little more powerful. Use it. Have one of the Winchesters use it if you can’t yourself. Bring it back when you’re done.” You were still shaking your head ‘no.’ “It’ll bring an end to your Abaddon problem much sooner than anything else.”

You sniffled and excused yourself from the lab, “I’m gonna get a start on Dinner.”

Your phone rang as you walked back to the kitchen. It was Dean. You steeled yourself as you leaned against the island in the center of the kitchen. “Hey.”

“You ready to talk?”

“Dean, I’m sorry, I just,” you took a deep breath. “Everything I know about the blade says it’s bad news. I came to visit my Dad. He knows a lot more about it than I do. Dean, I don’t think this is a good idea. It’s evil. I know that’s not saying much, considering what we deal with every day. It’ll kill Abaddon, but we need to find another-”

“Y/N. We don’t have time to find another way. Crowley and I found a spell to track the blade. Sam and Cas are at the bunker; I called to see if you wanted to come along.”

“Wh-Where did the spell lead?” you feared that Dean and Crowley were on their way to you right now.

“Missouri.”

You let out a relieved sigh. The spell must have been wrong somehow. “No, I’ll head back to the bunker in a little while. Be careful, Dean. Please.”

“Sure thing.”

You ate dinner with Cuthbert, and he kept up his word, helping you look for other ways to kill a Knight of Hell. You looked for days on end and unfortunately, you both came up with nothing. After a few more days, you decided to go back home to the bunker to fill in Sam and Dean.

~~~~~~

It was late when you pulled your Corvette into the garage and turned the engine off. Grabbing the two archive folders—the glamour having worn off—you walked them back to the archive room, deciding to tell them everything you knew about the blade. You knew Dean would insist, and maybe Sam would too, but at least you all would be on the same page.

You were so caught up in your thoughts that you walked right into Sam, dropping the folders to the floor. Sam bent down to pick them up before you could. “You alright, Y/N?” He looked at the folders as he handed them to you.

“Can we talk about this?” you asked, biting your bottom lip as you realized that if you didn’t say something now, you wouldn’t say anything at all. It had been weeks since you spoke to either of them and you didn’t like the tension it created between you and the two brothers.

Sam worked his jaw, thinking for a quick moment before speaking. He was well within his rights to be upset with you, “Why’d you lie about these?”

“I guess that’s a yes,” you said sarcastically, continuing to room 7B with Sam walking next to you. “I have heard of the blade. Though I’m sure that was painfully obvious from the get-go.”

That earned you a noise from Sam that meant “no shit.”

“My dad—Magnus—he was looking for it for a long time. I’ve told you how he can be when he gets obsessed.” Absently, you placed your hand on your hip over when the rune tattoo rested. “It used to scare me. Hell, it still does.”

Sam opened the door for you when you reached room 7B. “What’s so scary about it?” he asked, flipping through the pages within the files before tucking them into the box.

You explained further, filling Sam in on most of the lore you knew about the Blade and the Mark of Cain, conveniently leaving out that your father had it in his house right this moment. “You have to possess the Mark of Cain for it to work on a knight of Hell. I don’t know where we’d get that from, but I do know that you can’t just get rid of it. And I know it must be fed. It’ll work, Sam, it’s just that I don’t want to lose you or Dean in the process. I mean, I know it’s a long shot, because we don’t have the Mark, but-”

“Come here.” Sam pulled you into a warm hug.

You breathed in his scent, letting it calm you. “I’m sorry I lied to you,” you whispered.

“It’s alright, just,” he sighed, “talk to me next time, okay?” he said, rubbing your back.

~~~~~~

A little while later, you were sat at the desk in your bedroom, sleeping and using your arms as a pillow. You had been looking constantly for another way to kill a Knight of Hell. You had skimmed through the stack of books next to you, making it at least the third time you had gone through them,

There were two knocks, and then the door creaked open, jolting you awake. “It’s just me,” Dean grumbled, asking to come in. He looked at his watch. “It’s nearly 5, have you been up this whole time?”

You sat back with a sigh, stretching. “Yeah,” you said, blinking your eyes. I figure since I’ve lied to the both of you, the least I could do was research until my-“ you stopped talking, feeling an unsettling aura coming from Dean. You had never felt anything like it, prompting you to search his eyes, but it seemed to dissipate into the background, so to speak. “Something’s different about you.”

He looked away, tugging the rolled sleeve of his shirt down over his forearm. It was an odd gesture that didn’t go unnoticed. It looked like a nasty burn from where you were sitting.

“What happened there?” you asked, nodding to it. “I take it you and Crowley didn’t find the blade.”

“No, uh, we didn’t. The spell didn’t actually lead to the blade, rather it’s source of power.”

You frowned, wondering what exactly that meant. “So what did you find in Missouri?”

“We found Cain.” He spoke the next part carefully, “and he gave me this.”

Dean stepped closer to you, lifting the sleeve that he had previously tried to tug down. What you thought was a burn was actually more of a brand. You immediately recognized it as the Mark of Cain. The strange aura coming from him harder to ignore now that you knew what it was coming from. You stood, closing the distance between the two of you.

You reached out for his arm, caressing the mark. It was hot to the touch. Suddenly a tear dropped onto his arm. All you could think was how Sam and Dean had become your family over the time you had lived in the bunker. You didn’t want to lose him. You didn’t want the mark to take control of him. More than anything, you found yourself missing him even though he was standing right in front of you.

A wave of regret washed over you. You should have told him about the blade and the mark the first time you had a chance a few weeks ago. Dean made this decision for himself, but you felt at fault for not making sure he was informed beforehand.

“What did you do?” you whispered through bleary eyes.

“I did what I had to, Y/N.” He spoke matter of factly.

“This is-“ you swallowed thickly, looking up into his eyes to make sure he understood the gravity of his actions. “We can’t just get rid of this after we’re done with it.”

“I know,” he confirmed.

Dean placed a warm hand against your cheek, wiping away your tears with his thumb before you wrapped your arms around him. Before you knew it, your lips were crashing against his and he picked you up, walking the short distance to the bed and placing you down on it. He climbed over you, settling his hips between your legs and locking his fingers with yours as his lips met yours again.

You woke up in Deans arms the next morning. He pulled you closer when you tried to move, groaning in protest. “Too early..” he groaned.

You lifted your head, peeking over at the clock on your desk. It was almost noon. Last night with Dean had been lovely, but with him having the Mark, you needed to find a way to get it off as soon as possible. Everything you had read said that it couldn’t be removed, but you and the Winchesters have done the impossible before.

“I don’t like this, Dean,” you whispered, running your fingers through his short hair. “I’m gonna go back to my father’s. We looked for a substitute for the Blade, We didn’t research much about the Mark.” You pulled away from his hold on you, sitting up. “It’s a long shot, but maybe he’ll have something on removing it.”

He signed and stretched out. “We’ll take care of it, Y/N. We always do. But first, we need to get the Blade and kill Abaddon.”

You hopped out of the bed, pulling on some clothes from your drawer. Dean rubbed the sleep from his eyes before finding his shirt and stretching it over his head “You’re leaving right now?” he yawned.

“The sooner, the better.” You turned to him, buttoning your pants and kissed him on the cheek. “I’ll call you when we find something.”


End file.
